


Hurt Vector

by brohne



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, spoilers through chapter 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brohne/pseuds/brohne
Summary: The Mandalorian knows the code, knows what it means to be a bounty hunter in the unforgiving Galaxy. But some things are not worth the price and others are worth any cost.
Relationships: Din Djarin - Relationship, Paz Vizla/Din Djarin, Paz Vizla/Dyn Jarren, Paz Vizla/The Mandalorian
Comments: 50
Kudos: 408





	1. Chapter 1

The rhythmic _tang tang tang_ of the Armorer’s hammer filled the forge. Behind his helmet Din Djarin closed his eyes, letting the sound and heat wash over him. The bare spots where his armor had been attached to the fabric suit were conspicuously light, the comforting weight gone. He flexed his fingers then once more let them rest on his knees and opened his eyes. The cuirass was slowly taking shape.

The fresh blood scent of warm metal filtered through his helmet. Familiar. Unnerving. Desolate.

Screams echoed dully in the back of his mind. The shower of sparks off metal filled his vision. Cascades of molten metal that mimicked the blaster fire seared in his memory. He forced himself to hold his gaze on the flames even as images filtered through along with a crushing weight in his chest.

 _Don’t leave me_.

_Don’t leave me!_

The crash of the hammer on metal jolted him, the visage of the battle droid fading. He mentally shook himself and refocused on the Armorer as she quenched the heated metal. He’d more than earned the beskar, had nearly died several times to get it. It didn’t matter what Vizla said. The Empire was no more and taking back the beskar was the right thing to do. It belonged to the Mandalore; it was only right to recover it by any means necessary. The heaviness in his chest sharpened to a needling ache. He took a deep measured breath and let it out, his battered ribs protesting the movement.

It was best to forget it. He’d done his job and done it well.

 _Coward_.

He pressed his lips together. How dare Vizla call him a coward. They had to take what jobs they could get and this one had been incredibly lucrative and had restored part of their lost heritage. How was that cowardly?

_Don’t leave me._

His fingers clenched into fists on his knees. He bowed his head, his gaze drawn unbidden to the hastily mended tear in the fabric of his sleeve. The wound stung every time he moved his arm. Another scar to add to the others. Though a first from a fellow guild member. Just how many fobs had the client handed out? Why pit the hunters against each other? Typical Imperial arrogance, ready to throw away countless lives in pursuit of their twisted agendas.

What could they possibly want with the kid? Did it have something to do with what had happened with the mudhorn? Part of him wondered if he’d hallucinated the whole thing courtesy of the beating the mudhorn had given him. But no, it had happened, or he’d be dead, trampled into the mud and the kid would likely be dead as well …

The needling ache shot through his gut made him stiffen. An involuntary gasp escaped his lips as the pain he’d been ignoring flared.

“It will be some time yet before this is finished. Go to the infirmary and tend your wounds.” The Armorer didn’t look up from what she was doing. “There are spare bacta patches, you may use them.”

He dipped his head and got to his feet more stiffly than he would have liked. The gold helmet tilted in his direction.

“Return when you are finished.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The corridor outside was cold after the heat of the forge. He glanced about noting the quiet groups along the walls. A group of foundlings was engaged in a game that involved seeing who could dismantle and reassemble a blaster fastest. A pair of adults were playing dejarik at a holotable. Paz Vizla was nowhere to be seen.

The infirmary was nestled in an alcove past the armory away from the sleeping areas. Smaller than the forge, it held a single table, a med-droid, and equipment. He entered and ignoring the droid he went to the far wall where the bacta patches were stored.

“Do you require assistance?”

“No.”

Retrieving what he needed he headed for his sleeping alcove. It hadn’t been used much lately as he’d been working for several months and only slept at the covert between missions. He twitched back the curtain covering the entrance. The alcove held a bed, a side table, and a storage compartment. Soft yellow light filtered through a grate high overhead. Nothing had been touched. Not that there was much of anything in the first place. His personal belongings were on the Razor Crest. He set the patch on the table, removed his belt and eased himself down on the bed. He unclipped the beskar pauldron and laid it on the bed beside him. Next was the shoulder strap for his rifle, then his gloves. Cool air crept up his sleeves.

Letting out a soft sigh he reached up and started to remove his helmet when a noise just outside had him pausing. The curtain was pulled back and the massive form of Paz Visla stood in the doorway. The sharply angled helmet tilted to the side for a moment. Dyn started to get to his feet, wary though he had a feeling that Paz wasn’t here to continue the fight. Before he could get up Paz was next to the bed a large hand on his shoulder pressing him back down.

Heart thudding in his ears he stared up at Paz who only gave the slightest shake of his helmet. Din gripped the edges of the thin mattress as deft gloved fingers undid the fastenings of his cloak. Those same fingers brushed his collarbones as it was removed, making his skin tingle with the contact. It was neatly laid to the side. Din watched in quiet fascination as Paz got down on one knee in front of him. To his chagrin, his helmet amplified his gasp as Paz reached up and began to undo the front of the jumpsuit. He realized he was trembling and clenched his fingers harder into the fabric of the mattress.

He was embarrassed, not by the scattered bruises, not by the scorch marks left by the Jawa’s weapons, not by the cut on his arm. Those were all accepted as part of life as a Mandalorian. Only a coward left a battle unscarred. The embarrassment stemmed from Paz’s comment about working with the Imps. It had struck a raw nerve and now he was second-guessing his actions. Something he couldn’t remember doing in a very long time. Life as a bounty hunter was brutally simple in most cases but also a minefield of shifting allegiances, alliances, and potential threats.

Gloved fingers tugged the jumpsuit open and off his shoulders, the movement surprisingly gentle. He tipped his head forward, eyelids slipping closed as Paz eased his arms out of the sleeves. There was a soft huff and then the sound of the bacta patch being torn open. Dyn started at the coldness of the patch on his skin, but it immediately soothed the stinging ache. He relaxed, not having realized just how tensed up he’d been until the pain was gone. Exhaustion swept over him, the events of the last several days pressing down on him. Paz’s presence only heightened his awareness of what he’d done. Was he a coward? Had he betrayed his tribe by working for the Imperials?

He sucked in a startled breath as a large hand took him by the shoulder and pressed him down on the mattress. He started to resist, worried that Paz meant to unhelmet him. Paz only pressed harder and gave a quick shake of his head. Din quit fighting him and laid back, the familiar bunk molding around him. He took a steadying breath and closed his eyes. He’d barely slept for days and now that he was safely home sleep pulled at him like a black hole.

There was a soft pat on his shoulder and then the room was empty. So empty. He reached up and slipped his helmet off before setting it next to where Paz had neatly arranged his other things. He was still staring at it when he drifted to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The laughter of the younglings woke Din. For a moment he didn’t recognize where he was, the room dark and missing the familiar rumble of the Razor Crest’s engines. The covert. He sat up wondering how long he’d been asleep. The grate overhead was dim, the late afternoon sun barely making it to the ground above. The scents of food being cooked filtered past the curtain to his room. He looked down at the patch. Why had Paz helped him? Was it an apology of sorts? An acknowledgment that while they might not have equal status, they were both Mandalorian.

He stretched tentatively but the aches had eased and his arm no longer throbbed. He dressed quickly hoping the Armorer wouldn’t be disappointed he’d fallen asleep before returning to her. As he reassembled his weapons and remaining armor his mind continuously wandered back to Paz’s actions. Both the fight and the subsequent help. By the time he reached the forge he still had no clear answers for his actions.

The Armorer did not look up from her work as he entered and sat. The vambraces sat to the side, gleaming in the light from the forge as she polished the cuirass.

“You are well-rested then?”

“I am.”

“Good.”

When she was finished she brought over the pieces and fitted them to him. Neither of them spoke while she worked, making certain everything fit and that the onboard computer inputs were working properly. He was pleasantly surprised to find a number of upgrades to his HUD flashing to life as each component was installed. It was more than he felt worthy of but he wasn’t going to second guess the Armorer’s intentions. The galaxy grew wilder and more dangerous every day, and being properly equipped could mean the difference between bringing in a bounty and being sold for parts.

The hammering from the forge had been quiet for some time. Paz shifted on his seat in one of the darker recesses along the main corridor. The same seat he’d been in when he’d watched the younger Mandalorian finally emerge from his sleeping alcove and head for the forge. Next to him, Rove Dhrast wiped down her heavy blaster with smooth gentle strokes of the cloth.

“Did you really plan to remove his helmet?” she asked, voice deceptively soft filtered through the helmet.

Paz glanced over at her. “Yes.”

“Are you glad he didn’t let you?”

He took a moment carefully gauging his answer. The image of the slim yet muscular torso scattered with bruises and scorch marks filled his vision. If only he’d taken his gauntlets off so he could actually feel the smooth skin under his fingertips. Was he glad Din had fought him? He had to clear his throat to speak. “Yes. It is … difficult to let go of the past, knowing how much damage the Empire wrought. But, as She said, the beskar is once again with the Tribe and that is what matters.”

“He’s done well out there. Considering ...”

Paz nodded a slow dip of his head. Finding out Din was working for Imps had felt like a personal blow, and it wasn’t until after the fight that it dawned on him why. “I wouldn’t have chosen to join the Guild. It’s difficult enough out there without adding in all their politics and rules.”

“You wouldn’t fit in with the Guild anyway.” Rove snorted. “Demolition maybe.”

“You are very amusing, but yes, I see your point.” They’d all had their chances to help support the covert. He’d chosen to train the foundlings and younger Mandalorians instead of venturing out to find work. He’d seen more than enough battle and the skills he’d learned needed to be passed down. Some day they’d be able to come out of hiding and reestablish themselves. For now, all they could do was survive. Above all else, they had to keep the foundlings safe.

“That sight won’t work if you snap it in half,” Rove said. “You worried about something?”

Paz shook his head and eased his grip. Did the younger ones not realize what they’d lost? Perhaps it was inevitable that some things be forgotten, but surely not how they’d suffered at the hands of the Empire. The Empire hadn’t even been gone a decade and yet there were foundlings in the covert who only knew it as a pale shadow of its former self. Perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing. Perhaps this Alliance of Planets would bring a measure of stability back to the galaxy. He nearly snorted at the thought. “I’ve been wondering … where we’ll fit now that the Empire is gone and this New Republic is trying to expand.”

“Likely we’ll stay hidden until there are enough of us to carve our own place once again. No matter who claims to rule the galaxy, there will always be work for us.” Rove laid the blaster back in the case at their feet and picked up an older model short-barrelled rifle. She turned it over, inspecting it. “We’ve managed to grow and maintain our secrecy here. There aren’t even any rumors among the people in town.”

“I imagine having guild headquarters here keeps too much scrutiny away from us. More than enough comings and goings to mask our movements,” Paz said as he checked over the scope he’d nearly crushed. He tried not to reflect on how long they’d been stuck down here, how long it had been since he’d been free to come and go as he pleased.

“My sources say that this latest bounty was one of the most lucrative this parsec has seen. Empire or not, he’s gained a reputation out there and it’s benefiting the tribe.”

“As he should.” Paz ignored the sudden pressure in his chest. He wanted so badly to be furious with Din, to rail at him for working with the Imps but he couldn’t deny that he was effective. And intriguing. So damn intriguing with his soft voice and light step. Then there was the simmering ferocity and tenacity balanced by humility and loyalty to the Way.

Movement down the corridor caught his attention. He let out a soft grunt seeing Din step out of the forge, the new pieces of armor glowing in the low light of the corridor. Paz watched the smooth, measured gait as Din crossed the corridor and headed up the stairs. Off to his next job most likely. How long would he be gone this time? Was there any chance—

Rove interrupted his musings. “There are also some rather… interesting rumors about the nature of the bounty.”

Paz glanced over at her. “Since when is that a concern?”

“Since an Imperial was willing to part with a large fortune to gain it. One of my contacts overheard a drunk former Imp going on about protecting some doctor while they waited for a bounty hunter to return with something he needed,” Rove said as she disassembled the rifle and began to clean the barrel. “I would think that just knowing this Imp has so much beskar on hand should be enough to investigate.”

Paz shook his head. “A few years ago and I would have said we should go knocking on their door ourselves, but,” he stopped and gestured around them, “we are too few now to take on even a remnant of the Empire.”

“Paz Viszla, I never took you for a defeatist,” Rove chided.

“Pragmatic. Not defeatist. A good strategist knows that not every battle is worth fighting.”

“Which is why we are down here and not up there.” Rove pointed above her. “Want to come with me to check the supply cache? We should have a delivery waiting. I’m tired of eating roast kowakian.”

“Please tell me you didn’t order any more mynock,” Paz said with a groan.

“Of course I did, there are a couple of foundlings who love it. You don’t have to eat it. Oh, and I found a vendor who sells some tea that’s supposed to taste similar to Cassian.”

Paz grunted softly. “How many here do you think have tasted the real thing?”

Rove was silent for a moment and then let out a soft sigh. “Only a handful that I know of. Put your things away, I could use your help carrying stuff.”

“I’m not your personal bantha.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go stomping about like one.”

The supply cache was hidden behind an old warehouse and accessible from underground. Paz followed Rove through the tunnels and up a flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs was a doorway that led into a large dimly lit room. His helmet adjusted to help him see better and he noted the meters tall stacks of containers, bins and the odd camtono. No heat signatures though, it was empty.

Rove gestured for him to wait and then pulled the hood up on her cloak and wrapped part of it around her neck, leaving only the horizontal part of her visor visible. “Wait here.”

Paz dipped his head in acknowledgment and leaned back against the wall behind him. Rove disappeared from view, her light tread fading quickly. She returned a few moments later. “It’s all there. Follow me.”

The old battered metal containers had been left under a tarp out in the alleyway. Unable to help himself, Paz tilted his head back to look at the ribbon of sky between the buildings. The blue had tinges of gold and orange. The sun would set soon.

They were about halfway through carrying the containers below when the unmistakable sound of an explosion shattered the quiet night air. Paz and Rove both stopped and looked at each other.

“Was that what I think it was?”

“Sounded like a detonator blast.”

They both waited for a moment longer but didn’t hear any other explosions. Rove shrugged and grabbed another ammo case. Paz reached for another when the rapid thump of running feet had him reaching for his blaster. Rove grabbed his wrist as a small form came darting around the far corner of the alley. He pressed himself back against the wall into the deep shadow as the figure approached. Rove did the same. The beep of a tracking fob filled the alley. Another taller figure appeared behind the first. A Zabrak and a human.

“We have to cut him off from the shipyard.”

“A single Mandalorian isn’t a match for the whole guild,” the Zabrak said as he strode past their hiding spot. “We’ll have the bounty and that shiny armor of his.”

Paz clenched his fists, the urge to leap out and teach them just how deadly a single Mandalorian could be nearly getting the better of him. Instead, he watched them disappear around the far corner.

“We need to get the tribe.”

“Yes.”

It was all Paz could manage around the anger constricting his chest. They dared to think they’d get away with such a brazen attack. No, the Tribe wouldn’t stand for it. HE wouldn’t stand for it.


End file.
